


Blood Play

by ephemeraa



Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Magic, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraa/pseuds/ephemeraa
Summary: Ritual magic gets out of hand for Marcus.
Relationships: Carolina Hidalgo/Marcus Parks
Kudos: 1





	Blood Play

The room was set; everything was in place as the book said it should be. Marcus had marked the pentagram on the floor, set the white candles around the edge. The lit candles cast a glow over the room that almost made it look as though the pentagram wasn’t made of red tape from Dollar Tree. Marcus sat crosslegged on a pillow on the floor. Arranged in front of him, a folded towel with a fresh razorblade, scissors, a metal bowl, paper towels, and the book of ritual magic he had been thumbing through for days. He flipped it open to the marked page.

Behind him, he had placed his box of sex toys. The ritual required hair, blood, and semen for completion, and his dick had been uncooperative lately. He could almost never get it up by himself, and even with Carolina it was rare and left both of them dissatisfied. He wanted to come, desperately, but his dick went ropey and disinterested whenever he tried. He had been living in the shape of something, or perhaps under it. It hung around like a shadow, there when he went to sleep, there when he got up. It wasn’t quite a mood, more a feeling of reaching towards, not grasping, groping for something in the dark. Perhaps that was why when he had found the spellbook in a dusty corner of the bookstore, frequented by no one but the store cat, he had bought it immediately. If he needed answers, maybe they were there. 

He pulled one of his teeth from his jeans pocket. It clinked as he dropped it in the bowl. This was the second tooth he had lost, and maybe it really _was_ time to quit smoking, because he had no idea what else could be the cause. It had fallen out a few days ago, yellow and gnarled at its root. It seemed appropriate that it should be there for luck, or maybe for more of his DNA or whatever this ritual was after.

He was ready to start now. He slid off his hoodie, t-shirt and unbuckled his jeans, shimmying them off. He palmed himself through his boxers. He slid his thumb under the band of his underwear, and took hold of himself. Nothing. He sighed and let go. He could do the other part of the ritual first.

He picked up the razor blade, studied it. The idea of slicing something vital made him anxious, so a few drops would have to be enough. There was no specified quantity, just the stipulation for his own blood. He reached to the back of his scalp, severed a lock of his dark hair at the root, and dropped it into the bowl.

He felt warmth at the back of his neck. He ran his fingers through his hair; when he pulled them back, blood. He must have cut too close to his scalp.

After staring at the crimson liquid on his fingers for a moment, he ran his tongue across his fingertips. He had always liked the warm, metallic taste. It was something he used to do as a kid, suck the blood off papercuts or scratches. The other kids were disgusted; he had told them he was a vampire, and they were too scared to argue.

He held out his arm and ran the flat edge of the razor against his bicep. He could see the veins in the underside of his elbow under the thin skin. He traced gently them with the sharp edge of the blade.

He took a breath and dragged the sharp edge through his skin. He grimaced. He cut carefully, shallowly, about an inch. Blood bloomed from the incision. His groin started to warm. Curiously, he ran two fingers over the cut, and then popped them into his mouth. He sucked the way he liked his fingers sucked. As though in response to his questioning, his dick twitched, thrumming pleasantly. 

He set the blade down on the towel. He brushed his hand against his penis. This was new and it made him a little nervous. If anyone came into his apartment right now, he would certainly give them a scare: lights off, pentagram drawn, dick out. But he couldn’t argue with the results; he was fully hard now. He turned on his hip and slid off his boxers.

The blood was welling from the cut he had made; he licked it with the flat of his tongue. His cock responded in interest. The tip of his dick welled with precum. He felt a powerful urge to touch himself, so strong he felt it in his stomach and nipples and chest. He wanted to take his time though, make his orgasm worth the long wait. He had been patient, he could be patient a little longer. 

He picked up the metal bowl and scraped it along his arm to collect the rivulet of blood that had begun to travel down. He gently squeezed around the incision, making the blood drip into the bowl. He pressed harder, as though he were juicing a lemon, and enjoyed the way the blood flowed faster down his muscle. The metallic taste was still in his mouth. He took himself in his hand and squeezed his cock hard.

He picked up the blade and considered for a moment, looking at the hot and pulsing wound on his arm. “Fuck it,” he whispered to himself, and plunged in, carving deeper.

He cried out softly. Blood welled out almost instantly, the scent mixing with the smell of his sweat and his body. He groaned from the back of his throat. Holding out his bleeding arm, he used his other hand to start to rub himself, vigorously. Blood dripped onto his thighs, the pillow he was sitting on.

“Christ,” he gritted his teeth. His head was starting to swim. His body had missed touch, his own or Carolina’s, her specific way of kissing his neck, dragging at his clothes. The way it felt to kiss and bite her thighs, the way she tasted, _God_ he wanted to right now but she was at work, it was midday on a Friday. It wasn’t like most people could just take the day off to try magic.

He sprawled out, adjusting the pillow under his lower back. He held his bloodied arm out carefully, wedging paper towels underneath. The candles glowed faintly orange above his head. He rummaged in the box of sex toys until he found what he was looking for, a small, black butt plug. She had used it on him before; usually he wouldn’t on himself, but this was a special occasion. He poured lube onto it, careful not to spill. He lined it up and pressed inside; he moaned. It had been a long time, even the smallest dildo felt large inside him. He adjusted his hips to settle onto it.

As he touched himself, he thought about the last time he had been with Carolina, tracing his fingers over her light brown nipples, the way she sighed and arched her back. He imagined mounting her and licking the sweat from between her breasts, pressing half moons with his nails until he broke skin. He wondered if she would like this. Probably not; he was a little freaked out himself. Then again, she hadn’t minded, had even liked it, when he asked to whip her, so perhaps this wasn’t such a stretch.

His body tightened, remembering. He rubbed himself faster. He had tied her, hands above her head, and whipped her across her ass, lower back, and finally shoulders, which had made her cry out and beg the hardest. That was a long time ago, when they first started dating. He had whipped her until red welts puffed across her soft skin, until she really started to scream and he knew he had to pull back or he was really going to hurt her. But he had wanted to keep going, and it made his dick throb to consider making her bleed with the whip, cutting her skin and licking the salt and stinging wounds.

He pressed his bloody arm into his mouth and sucked. Blood poured into his mouth. “Shit!” he choked and screwed his eyes shut and then he was coming on himself, streaking his stomach with months of pent up frustration. His cock pulsed hard, and he strained, and strained, until there was nothing left.

He dropped his head back. He panted. His head rolled to the side. He stayed like that for a good while, just breathing. The candle smoke smelled like vanilla. He should probably get candles that weren’t from Bed Bath and Beyond. Didn’t seem quite appropriate.

He laid for another moment and then grabbed the roll of paper towels, cleaning off his stomach and the rusty pool on his arm. He stared at the ceiling. He wondered how the Hell he was going to explain this to Carolina when she got home.


End file.
